Of Concussed Consultants and Exasperated DIs
by HilsonMarvey27
Summary: Sherlock gets concussed during a case and Lestrade cleverly, albeit begrudgingly, gets him away from the EMTs on the scene. Contains: No spoilers, paternal!Lestrade, and hurt!Sherlock. Enjoy


**A/N: My first Sherlock fic is a hurt!Sherlock father!Lestrade fic – my favorite types of stories! :D **

**Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

There were some days that Gregory Lestrade questioned his association with one, Sherlock Holmes. For example, times when Sherlock relapsed back into cocaine use again, and when Sherlock deliberately withheld information about cases and his plans.

There were also times when Greg was glad to work with, and even be friends with, such a brilliant and interesting man.

Gregory Lestrade was struggling to remember those times as he listened to his younger friend bitch to all the medical staff about their 'general incompetence as medical personnel' and 'incessant questioning accompanied by what is most probably an excessive amount of poking and prodding on his person'. Enough was enough.

"Sherlock, just let the bloody EMTs do their job, before I haul you off to St. Bart's myself and get you admitted!" Both Sherlock's and the two EMTs examining the consulting detective's heads all swiveled upward and latched their gazes onto the exasperated detective inspector in front of them.

For a brief moment Greg felt a little embarrassed at his outburst, but he stamped down his discomfort and focused his attention on his concussed consultant.

"You're not my handler, like you and Mycroft seem to believe you to be; I am not in any way obligated to obey your every command: I'm not your soldier." Sherlock retorted, indignantly.

Greg forced himself to stay calm, but all thought of control was lost when Sherlock rolled his eyes at the EMTs attempts to finish their examination as he shrugged them off again.

"That's it – come with me!" Greg commanded, not waiting for Sherlock's response and simply grabbing a fist full of his collar and hauling an unsteady Sherlock to his car. (Sherlock's brief expression of surprise was smugly noted by the DI.) Greg shoved Sherlock into his side of the car earning a cut-off shout of surprise at the force behind it.

When they were both seated in the car, Lestrade was carefully pulling out of the busy parking lot and onto the road with little traffic, it being three am and all, when Sherlock finally spoke up.

"You seemed a little angrier and used a little more force this time than usual." He remarked carefully.

"Well, all the better for our little '_act_', right?" Greg forced as much sarcasm as he could into the one syllable word. "I pretend to be taking you to the hospital just so you can escape the clutches of the 'Evil EMTs'." The sarcasm returned for the last of his sentence. "I honestly don't know why you still have me assist you with that, why don't you have John do it."

Greg didn't care that he sounded childish, or even jealous. Sherlock was staring at him, though, trying and succeeding with far too much ease to see the cause of Greg's frustration.

"Lestrade, John and I are friends. But," Sherlock looked uncomfortable, but the rest of his expression was difficult to read. "I don't trust him with the same things I trust you with. You shouldn't feel replaced by John, you're still my friend, too." The last of Sherlock's words were barely a whisper and his gaze was steadfastly fixed outside his window, making it difficult to see his expression.

Greg nodded almost imperceptibly, which didn't fail to be noticed by Sherlock, before he spoke. "I'm man enough to admit that I may have been a _little _jealous, but I'm mainly upset that you keep putting yourself in peril to catch a criminal. You're not part of the police; you aren't obligated to – or even legally allowed to. You could try phoning me next time and I could help you before the suspect clocks you on the back of the head with a wooden plank."

Having arrived at 221B Baker Street, Greg got out of his car and made his way over to the passenger side. He opened the passenger side door, and gently assisted Sherlock out of the car and to his flat.

Once inside, he guided Sherlock to his sofa and laid him down carefully. Then, Greg went to the bathroom and expertly located the pain killers in the atrocious medicine cabinet. He then scavenged a cleaned glass and filled it with cold tap water.

Re-entering the living room, Greg perched himself on the edge of the coffee table beside the sofa. He helped his younger friend into an upright position and handed him the glass of water and the medication. Sherlock took two of the small, white pills washing them down with the aforementioned glass of water.

"Where's John, anyway?" Greg's question was sudden, but not unexpected. Since they became flatmates, they were no longer just Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, they were 'Sherlock and John'. They were hardly ever apart.

"The surgery. His shift ends in a few hours." Sherlock laid his head back against the top of the sofa as his eyes drifted closed, the pain medication beginning to ease the throbbing of his injured skull.

Knowing he would undoubtedly be here for a few more hours making sure his friend didn't lapse into a coma in his sleep and beginning to feel a slight ache in his back, Greg abandoned his uncomfortable, hunched position on the coffee table to sit beside the tired consultant on the sofa. Sherlock opened one eye for a few seconds before deciding against a useless argument or annoying comment and letting it slide closed again.

As Sherlock fell asleep beside him, Greg made himself comfortable for the few hours before the first concussion check. A few minutes later, Sherlock's head gently lolled onto Greg's shoulder.

Yeah, Sherlock could be annoying sometimes, and yeah, at times he barely restrained himself from punching his smug face in (and on one memorable occasion didn't restrain himself). But times like these, with just the two of them falling asleep on the couch, Sherlock trusting him enough to not only fall asleep next to him but to lean against him as well. These times made their friendship worth it. They reminded Greg why he cared so much about the kid.

Greg smiled to himself thinking of the day they met as he drifted into unconsciousness himself.

SH – SH – SH

John Watson was exhausted. He had spent the past six hours at the surgery treating dozens of mostly clueless patients. He just wanted to go home and actually get some sleep for once. He knew, though, that Sherlock had gotten a case this morning and was most likely still obsessing over it, and tried to mentally prepare himself to be ranted to by Sherlock trying to figure out his newest case.

Upon entering 221B, he was surprised to see that Sherlock was actually sleeping and so was…Lestrade? Why was Lestrade here?

Not knowing the reason for the Scotland Yard detective inspector's presence John just assumed it had something to do with a case. He looked back to the sleeping pair and was struck by how different the both of them looked with their faces lax with slumber.

They didn't look unlike father and son.

**A/N: Not sure what I think of this one, really…I wrote this a few months back when I first got into Sherlock and have been going back and forth on whether or not to post it. I'm not sure if I got their voices right, but it's my first Sherlock fic so…yeah. **

**Any tips, comments, or constructive criticism is welcome and encouraged!**


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